


A Vacation

by Kawaiikidney



Category: South Park
Genre: F/M, M/M, Suicide, Suicide mention, my girlfriend is basically the mastermind of this all
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-06-06 08:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6747028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiikidney/pseuds/Kawaiikidney
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hoping to relieve the stress of college, Kyle, Stan, Cartman, Kenny, Wendy, Tweek and Craig decide to spend their winter break in the Rockies, Colorado.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Saturday

_"Excuse me?”_ Cartman said incredulously. “Road rage? I do not have road rage!” Cartman’s face was scrunched up, hair barely concealed by a black hat that read ‘I GET HOES’. It was his break wear, apparently. Stan responded with a quick eye roll and sigh. Of course Eric would deny it, but there was no way he was going to drive for them. 

“Listen dude, just drive with Kenny, Craig and Tweek,” Kyle mentioned dismissively, loading a bag of charcoal in the back of the car. Cartman sputtered, his hands resting on his hip. Eric was reaching critical levels of sass. Stan really did not want to deal with this. 

“Those assholes!? Tweek and Craig’ll just do some kinky shit the entire time, Kenny’s gonna watch and I’ll end up having to bear through it!”

“Either you drive for them or go in our car and not drive,” said Stan, to which Cartman responded to by saying, “You’re all fucking hippies.” The larger man walked back inside, most likely to assert his driving dominance over Tweek and Craig.

“It’s like he’s eight all over again.” Stan remarked, packing up the last bit of supplies. Cartman was eight like, what? Twelve years ago? There was some noticeable differences between eight year old fatass and twenty year old fatass, like, how he was now a moderate height... and his voice dropped. Well, Eric did have a lot more sense to him, at least, it was only times like these, when he was irritated, that he’d revert to his old self. The whining, stuck up Cartman. Stan closed the trunk, with a difficult push downward. They were staying basically in nowhere-snow-hell for a week, why not bring some extra things just in case? 

Kyle briskly made his way upstairs. He still lived with his parents, though it was a little ways away from their campus. Stan moved out with Wendy not too long ago, found an apartment near his college to settle temporarily in. Stan made his way upstairs too, they weren’t leaving for maybe another thirty minutes or so. 

Wendy was on the couch, intently scrolling through her Instagram feed, she was tapping her free hand against her leg. He studied her for several seconds, appreciating the beauty his girlfriend held. Her legs were crossed, and although it seemed awkward and uncomfortable she looked content. “Ready, babe?” Stan asked as he sat beside her, a gentle smile on his lips. He’d crushed on her for years, all throughout elementary school, middle school and beginning of high school. Midway through freshman year was when he discovered his courage to ask her out, and they’d been together since. Four and a half years. They had disagreements here and there, but Stan had never been more happy then how he was with Wendy Testaburger. She was the adoration of his life. 

“Oh, hey Stan!” Her expression lit up, she locked her phone and snuggled into Stan’s side. “Yep, I’m all ready. I was waiting for you guys to finish.” Stan wrapped his arm around her, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze. 

“We’re done and leaving in a few minutes. Are you excited?” As he asked this, she rested her head on his chest, he developed a shit-eating smile.

“Yeah! We haven’t really gotten out on a road trip like this before,” she answered in a light tone, “I’ve also never been to the Rockies.” 

“Good thing we don’t have Cartman driving for us,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on her head of hair, “he’d either kill us driving or prolong the trip by three days by screaming at people.” 

Stan didn’t realize Kyle’s presence, it startled him when he heard his voice. “Cartman’s already leaving, we should go if we want to get there in time.” 

“Shit, let’s go then,” Stan patted Wendy’s shoulder and she sat upright. Sure enough once they made it outside, Eric was backing up. The moment he saw them he stuck out his middle finger out and drove in haste away, the car’s tires uprooting some gravel as he did. 

Mr. and Mrs. Broflovski saw the rest off, Mrs. Broflovski making extra sure Kyle had everything he needed. She still looked as frisk as ever, although strands of white hairs intertwined with the red in her bun. She peered into the passenger window at Kyle, who sat with his hands gripping the steering wheel. 

“And you sure you’re gonna drive-?”

“Mom, it’s only an eight hour trip, I’ll be fine.” 

“Make sure to text me, okay bubbla? If your car breaks down, your father knows several good-”

“Okay mom-”

“And if you need food I’m sure I can-”

“Mom, we packed more than we can-”

“Honey, what if there’s a bear-”

_“Mom._ Cartman’s already on the road, we have to go.” 

Stan could make out Kyle’s reddening cheeks, which he could only grin to. He was backseat with Wendy, holding her hand. Mrs. Broflovski bid her farewells as they backed up, Mr. Broflovski waved from the garage, mouthing something to what Stan could understand as, “‘Bye, boys.” The group was soon to exit South Park to what they assumed was going to be a kick-ass vacation. 

Half of the trip was spent with talking and loud music, laughter and anecdotes. The other half was making a quick stop by 7-Eleven for Stan to hop onto the driver’s seat, since Kyle developed a splitting headache. It got quieter once Stan started to drive, which, in admittance, was a nice change of pace from the din they had before. Soft songs he only knew by repetition on the station were playing from the radio, he was tapping gently against the steering wheel to the beat of a song he barely recognized. It was nice, in that moment. He felt comfort in the silence, in the presence of his girlfriend and best friend. This was way better than being locked up in the apartment stressing over college.

He heard a phone ringing from the back, and a quick glance revealed Kyle to be holding it up to his ear. “Hello?... What?... Dammit!” Kyle retracted the phone from his face, addressing Stan in frustration, “Cartman’s having a tantrum in the middle of the street.” 

“Called it.”


	2. Saturday Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I finished the chapter today and decided to post it today as well. Third chapter is going to take more time, though! Hope you enjoy!  
> Really quick though; smut warning, beware of the dick

“Excuse me, ma’am?” Cartman knocked on the window of a car. He got out at the red light because this goddamn hippie was driving two damn miles an hour, with the grace that competed with that of a dog. The woman rolled down the window, an inquiring stare dawning her expression. She appeared to be in her late thirties, eyes obscured by a pair of dark glasses, hair in a messed up bun, and very, very well fed. She held a phone in one hand. Most likely, this son of a bitch had been driving without paying any attention to the road. In most circumstances, he wouldn’t give two shits, but this was impairing his driving. Cartman harrumphed, before spitting out a forcibly sweet, “If you’re gonna be driving, I suggest you set down your phone.” 

“Who are you, the police?” Her voice was heavy, he noted a Southern hick. She tossed her hair back, moving to raise the window once more. His eyes narrowed in a dangerous sort of anger.

“No,” he stated bluntly, “but I sure as hell don’t want to drive behind someone who’s fucking going two miles a damn hour! _Lady, just drive.”_

“Why don’t you go back into your car and ‘just drive’?” She said, her voice laced with mockery, window shutting in his face. He stood in an almost dumbfounded silence for several moments, staring at his reflection. He made out the woman texting away from the window. He glanced over at the small noise of feet shifting the gravel of the road. 

“U-uh, Cartman? Th-they asked me to… Tell you--ngh-- that… they’re waiting for you to go-- go back in.” 

“Not now!” He bellowed, the anger that was previously bubbling exploding. “This bitch, she’s- she must be impaired, there’s no other reason for her to be this damn stupid! Just drive your car!” He mustered a yell, fists clutched inside a pair of gloves. It took the sudden, angry honking from other cars to realize the stoplight was now green and they were holding up the traffic. “This isn’t over, lady.” Cartman whispered in vehemence as Tweek anxiously attempted to lead him back into the car, his hand a gentle force on the incensed man. Cartman couldn’t feel a thing. Tweek seemed terrified they’d be run over by cars that swerved around them in frustration, he muttered on and on about how much of a bad idea it was to be out in the street like that. Once back in the car, Kenny uttered something Cartman could just barely make out. It was enough to spark his anger anew.  
“Shut it,” He seethed, revving the car’s engine. Tweek desperately clung to Craig’s blue sweater once Cartman stepped on the gas to catch up with the other vehicles, Craig simply wrapped his arm around the shaking figure. This was not the most pleasant ride. 

“God, that took forever,” Kenny yawned, draping his body on the brown leather couch. The cool leather penetrated his clothing; he’d donated his orange parka to Goodwill a few years back since it no longer fit, his replacement jacket wasn’t much help in blocking cold temperatures. It was something, at least. Good thing this place had decent air conditioning, it’d warm soon enough to remove his pathetic jacket. They had just reached the log cabins several minutes ago after almost an hour of idle, stale conversation with the park ranger. Kenny swore on his life the man was either a pedo or a molester, with the way his eyes dragged on each of their bodies. It almost made him shudder again. The travel to their actual cabin was long, it was in the smack middle of the forest. 

He watched tentatively as Stan, Kyle and Craig brought in the load from the two cars, desiring nothing more than to not help. All he brought was the clothes from his back and a few of his dad’s drinks. Wendy was on the other end of the couch texting, from what Kenny could assume, Bebe. Or someone else to that extent. 

“Kinny, aren’t you gonna get off your lazy, poor ass and help?” Cartman demanded, behind the counter top of the kitchen (a fairly good kitchen for a log cabin, though the cabin was large and built for luxury), Kenny pinpointed the faint smell of mayonnaise.

“Why don’t you help, Cartman?” Kyle inquired, rancor heavy in his tone, dropping a large box of food in front of him. “Also, try not to go through all the food in one day, this is supposed to last us a week.” 

“Fuck you, Kahl, you Jew! I’m not helping ‘cuz you have your Jew germs all over it!” 

“Jew germs?” Kyle’s expression depicted earnest sense of disbelief. Kenny chuckled; Cartman was still Cartman, even if he matured. “That’s probably the stupid shit you’ve said so far this week. Congrats.” 

“Whatever,” Eric shrugged it off, biting into his sandwich. 

Tweek rushed into the room with shaking hands, it was a wonder how his phone didn’t fall. “AGH--! T-there’s a b--ngh--big storm! It’s coming! We’re going to-- AGH-- DIE!” He thrusted his phone in the direction of everyone, Kenny made out a large red blotch near their area. “I don’t want to die! E-everyone has to come inside!” 

“We won’t die, Tweek,” assured Wendy with a gentle tone, quick to stand and go by his side. She peered at the phone; it was a blizzard alright, a big one too, but she refused to display much concern in order to keep Tweek calm. “We can wait it out once it hits; we’re safe in here.”

“Wasn’t Stan in charge of checking the weather, or, something?” Craig questioned as he set down a large sack of oranges, the last of what they had in both cars. Would they even need oranges? Who thought of bringing these? Once he was next to Tweek, who had inched closer into the confines of the nirvana that was the inner cabin, he held his hand.

Speak of the devil; Stan sauntered in, closing the door right behind him. “What’s up?” He asked. He heard tidbits of the conversation, but not enough to make a solid conclusion. 

“G-gah! A storm!” Tweek panicked, visibly squeezing Craig’s hand with a force that could crush... if he had any muscles. 

“When’s it hitting?” Stan questioned, moving to the couch where Kenny still leisurely seated. Wendy mentioned something about it hitting Tuesday, from what she saw. Three days from then. “Well, when it comes; it comes. Let’s just get settled down first.” He plopped down on the couch, “Now, the first order of business; who’s sharing what room? There’s four upstairs.” 

“Tweek’s with me,” Craig stated, Tweek looking pretty disgruntled. 

“Three rooms.” Noted Stan, lowering one of his fingers from his previous gesture of ‘four rooms’. 

“No way I’m going with Kyle. Kenny, you’re with me.” Cartman mentioned in a pointed tone. 

“I can sleep alone,” Kyle answered Stan’s question before he could make it out. He didn’t sound upset. Stan eliminated two other fingers.

“And that leaves us with the last room,” Wendy added with a bright smile. 

 

They spent the rest of the night talking and lounging around. An eight hour trip wears people out enough to just stay put for a while. Separate conversations occurred here and there, group chats, some drinks handed out, nostalgia over old memories, until finally, at eleven thirty, they dispersed into their respective rooms with distant and fatigued ‘goodnight’s. 

Once Cartman reached his room, he began to second guess sharing a bed with Kenny. It wasn’t King sized, that enough was evident. There was a bare nightstand to the right of the bed and what seemed like a closet to the far left on the wall. 

“Kinny, I’m totally seriously if you pull some weird shit I will leave.” Cartman drawled as he put his hat on the nightstand and balanced his luggage on the wall. He removed his jacket and shoes, tossing them lazily in the direction of his luggage. 

“I won’t pull anything,” Kenny mimicked Cartman’s actions, “unless you pay me.” Although it was delivered as a punchline, Kenny wouldn’t have minded it. In all honesty, he’d appreciated Cartman for a while now. Kenny had spent his fair share of nights with tightened pants over the fatass, not to mention the amount of instances where he acted upon his arousal. Tonight his interest was piqued. 

“Bet you’d suck dick for five bucks.” Eric said. He immediately regreted it. His intention was for it to have come out as mocking statement, but it simply hung in the air as a heavy suggestion. His cheeks brightened. 

“I’d do more than that for five bucks,” Kenny responded before developing a coy smile. “Have a few dollars to spare?” The situation was quickly developing to something Cartman hadn’t anticipated. _Fuck, my pants can’t already be getting so small. Get a grip, Cartman!_

“I mean, yeah- but,” he stumbled over his words. All the clever comebacks that, just prior to then, were on the tip of his tongue, dropped into some abyss below his feet. He faced the wall, refusing to have Kenny’s eyes rake his bright face. The silence that pursued was unnerving to Eric, and an absolute turn on to Kenny. Cartman heard the bed behind him creak with a slow weight. His heart skipped several beats. “Kinny… This is _really_ gay.” Yeah, of course, pointing out the obvious would help. He attempted to glimpse at Kenny without him noticing; Kenny had stripped of everything save his underwear. Cartman, with a face so red it was almost a painful thing to view, deadpanned. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Just getting comfortable,” Kenny said, voice lax. He now lay ‘comfortably’ with his arms above his head, giving a clear view of his abdomen. It wasn’t well defined, it was more under-defined if you asked him. His ribs poked out some, and golden chest hairs dominated his chest, but damn Cartman could not be any harder. 

The brunette exercised immense effort in uttering, “Put your shirt on.” It wasn’t very convincing and Kenny caught wind of that. 

“Why don’t you take yours off?” He was taken off guard by Kenny’s rapid movement. Eric found himself underneath Kenny, his shirt being tugged at feverishly. He was too caught up to protest, and after a second of shifting the shirt was thrown to the ground. There was a harsh collision of lips, Cartman was quick to release an open mouthed groan, giving the blonde ample opportunity to stick his tongue into his mouth. It was a sloppy, hot, and open mouthed kiss. Kenny’s hands wandered all around the larger male’s body, feeling around his hips and tugging at his hair. The brunette’s bulge practically suffocated in his pants, and it was a fucking bliss when Kenny ground his hips down. His nails left crescent marks on Kenny’s back as Kenny’s own boner rubbed against his. 

“Take off your underwear,” Eric demanded in desperation, pulling their lips only slightly apart. Kenny raised an eyebrow.  
“Five bucks.” 

“What?!” 

“You want my boxers off, don’t you?” The mocking tone the blonde held angered Cartman, but he kept his senses. He didn’t want to ruin the moment. 

“Fine, fine, you asshole; just take them off.” With that being said, Kenny kicked off his underwear and the brunette found enough time to remove his pants and underwear. 

“No, no,” Cartman hastily stated; to his dismay Kenny had yet to be absolutely going at him, instead the blonde shifted to the left of the bed so he could tear open his luggage and look for lubricant. He never went unprepared, anywhere. “I am not taking it in the ass.” 

Kenny released a sigh through his teeth, the tease dripping from his voice as he said, “You sure? It’ll cost you.” 

“How much?”

“Twenty bucks.” 

“Fine,” he settled, stealing the lube from Kenny. He wanted nothing more than to pound the living shit out of him by then; it showed as he pinned the blonde down and roughly kissed him. He shoved his tongue into his mouth and dominated every inch of it. The blonde’s movements exhibited no discretion. Cartman was losing it. Having a bitch in total submission? It was like having a thousand dollars being handed to you for being that fucking awesome. He felt hands gripping at his hair as he nipped and sucked at Kenny’s neck, soft moans escaping the smaller man’s pink lips. 

Cartman didn’t bother to ask for condoms, instead he dribbled lube onto his fingers and went on prepping Kenny. Of course it was simple to slide two fingers in, Eric had to remind himself that he was dealing with a whore who had probably fucked more people than he could currently think of. He didn’t bother thinking about them, for now he enjoyed the pleasured expression Kenny’s face gingerly held. The loud moans that resonated and the scrunched up face that Kenny made as Eric curled his fingers in absolutely killed Cartman. Slipping his fingers out, he fisted lube onto himself, soaking in the beauty in front of him. Kenny had glazed eyes, his whole body screaming to just take him. Oh, the brunette intended to do just that. 

“You want this, bitch?” Cartman smirked devilishly, hands digging into the blonde's torso. He was met with a whimper. “Speak up.”

“Please,” he begged, “just fuck me already.” 

That was just enough for Cartman. The man snapped his hips into Kenny, issuing a gasp and a tight grip on the cabin bed’s covers. It felt fucking amazing, although Kenny was easy to slip into with fingers, Eric was no small feat. “H-holy shit, you’re fucking tight.” 

“A-and you’re fucking big.” 

Though a sadistic bastard, he had the manners to wait for Kenny’s approval. The blonde recovered fairly quickly, thrusting his hips up in encouragement. Cartman thrusted once again, setting an antagonizing pace for them both. Kenny’s moans were porn-star quality, the brunette emitting groans and gentle “fucks” here and there. It was only when he picked up the pace that he heard something incredible. 

“Ngh.. Oh, E-Eric…! Eric…! Choke me…!” 

God was truly gifting him, now. He complied without hesitation, one hand going up to grip at Kenny’s neck. He was aggressive in sex, especially when given the full liberty to do so. Now his thousand dollars had tripled and he was being crowned king. Cartman kept at this, the softened sounds of moans underneath him, the thrusting, his squeezing hand… 

The sputtering. 

He was so close, he couldn’t stop. He didn’t pay attention. Stars danced against his eyes as he squeezed them shut, the escalating sensation of an orgasm rushing closer with every thrust. He became irregular, the fastened pace becoming a mess of rolling hips and groans. He hit his climax several minutes later with a loud moan, expecting Kenny to release one or react or emote or at least shove his hand away. 

No, he didn’t. 

Cartman removed his hand. Dark bruises developed the area where he’d gripped, Kenny appeared expressionless. 

Fucking weak.


	3. Sunday

Stan awoke to Wendy’s gentle humming. She was sitting beside him with a book in hand. He could make out the book’s name through his half lidded eyes; it was a worn copy of the Wheel of Time. She never wasted the time of the day, of course. He shifted up, groaning and rubbing at his eyes while groggily wrapping his arms around her waist, getting closer to the comfort of her warmth. “G’mornin’ Wendy.” 

Wendy smiled, “Morning, love-bug!” She folded the page she was on and closed the book, placing it on the nightstand. He groaned once again at the mere implication that he was awake. He felt her hands caressing his black hair, a gesture she typically did that left him weak; he was a sucker for people massaging his head. Stan released a content sigh.

“What time is it?” Stan wiped away the drool from his face that had collected on his pillow during the night. Mildly gross.

“Eleven thirty.” She placidly responded, enjoying their closeness.

He remained quiet for several minutes before the scent of scrambled eggs entered their room. 

“Babe, what’s that smell?” He asked. 

“Oh, someone’s cooking breakfast, I think. I’m not really hungry, you can go to eat if you want.” 

Stan adjusted off the cheap cabin bed (hell, the rangers invested enough to have a decent kitchen but not a good bed?) and pandiculated. He hopped off with a creak and shuffled out of the room. As he headed downstairs, he heard it groaning under his weight. It was the only other thing that broke the silence aside from footsteps and clattering pans from the kitchen. He crept in expecting Kyle or anyone else to be making breakfast; it was a shock to see Cartman cooking, dicing up some onions atop the counter. He appeared to be making an omelette. 

“Cartman?” Stan asked in bewilderment. He’d never seen him cooking before. 

“Oh, Stan, good morning. Want an omelette?” His question further fed into Stan’s doubt. What the fuck was Cartman doing? Not only would he not cook, but openly suggest cooking for other people? “It’s made with the freshest ingredients: diced green peppers, onions, and eggs.” His voice had that heightened, false pride that always came when he attempted to lie. 

“Dude, what are you doing?”

“I’m just making breakfast for my awesome _friends!”_

“Cartman just called us his friends,” Kyle announced as he stepped in, “he’s up to something.” 

“Ugh, _guys._ Can’t I just do a nice deed without everyone trying to tell me it’s not sincere?” He asked, both Stan and Kyle returning his look of false offence with a blank, awaiting gaze. Their arms were crossed. He bristled, “Well, you know what? Fuck you guys, I’m not making you shit! You can cook your own fucking breakfast.” Silence. “Goddammit! Alright, I killed Kenny, what the fuck do you want from me?”

“Dude, seriously? You killed Kenny?!” Kyle lashed out, “What the fuck, man? I thought we were past this! He’s probably back at home fucking upset!” 

“You don’t understand he started being really gay-” 

“We wanted to spend one fucking week relaxing, not having Kenny die, fatass!” Their voices raised, and Stan was pretty sure everyone could hear them.

“Listen, just fucking-- if he’s really upset text him and, I’ll… I’ll go pick him up if he’s being a bitch about it.” Stan offered, to which Kyle glared. 

“No, no this is Cartman’s fault and he’s going to deal with it.”

“Me? Kyle, you can’t be seriously. He’s probably getting drunk in his poor ass house without a care right now.”

“Which would be your fucking fault, wouldn’t it!?” 

“Kyle,” Stan stepped forward, blocking Kyle from Cartman. Both were standing in a way that suggested they’d attack in a heartbeat. “I don’t want you getting worked up right now, I’ll text Kenny and if he wants to get picked up, I’ll go, if he doesn’t, whatever.” His tone left no reason for further arguments. Kyle scoffed once catching Cartman’s eye but respected Stan’s decision nonetheless. He stormed away without as much as a word. Stan gave Eric a sharp glare and went off behind the ginger. 

“Motherfucker! My omelette!” The brunette yelled at the sight of burnt eggs, neglected by him in the heat of the argument. His plan of buttering them up went nowhere.  
Kenny refused Stan’s generous offer of returning to the cabins, even through Stan’s insisting. The noirette gave up, promising to avoid bothering Kenny with any more emotional interrogations. Good for Cartman, ruining their vacation first day in. He prayed nothing else would go awry. 

 

They planned on going out in the woods after an afternoon barbeque, maybe hiking if anyone felt up to it. Clouds covered blotches of firmament, not enough to obscure the sun but just enough to scare Tweek. It took Craig a few hours to convince the poor twitching blond to leave the wooden structure, with constant promises of “I’ll be there to hold your hand”. Craig was accustomed to this constant paranoia, somehow Tweek warped the idea of a blizzard to the death of everyone in their party and used Kenny’s passing as an example, only they wouldn’t return home when killed. He managed to calm down and walk hand in hand out of the cabin and into the barbeque Stan set up. 

Tweek bit his fingers whilst sitting on a table outside, watching Stan and Wendy barbequing away. This was a terrible idea, going out into the woods; what if there was a beast in the forest, ready to tear their flesh open and rip out his heart? All they had was a small clearing for the entrance of the log cabin, something could easily grab him from the thick set of bushes. What if Cartman’s thirst for blood wouldn’t stop with just Kenny? Jesus, where was Cartman? He wasn’t outside with them, was he plotting all their demises? His attention was diverted by the soft squeeze of Craig’s hand, as if his boyfriend knew his thoughts were running about without control. Tweek let out a breath of air, squeezing back. He never had any medication, after the fiasco with ADHD in their early Elementary school years his parents thought it best to avoid them, all he really had was coffee, Craig and his therapist. 

“I need, ngh, more coffee...” Tweek whispered to his boyfriend, knowing well if he were to step into their temporary home, he wouldn’t be going back out. Craig nodded, kissing his cheek before stepping out of the table and walking back inside. Tweek dropped his head against the table for several minutes in the wait, reaching the deepest parts of his happy place. Bright sun, green grass, puppies, warmth, colorful, stress free. He felt his pulse slow down. 

“Tweek, you’re vegetarian right?” 

Tweek jumped up, eyes searching for the culprit of the query. It was Kyle, holding condiments and breads to set down. “Yeah.” 

“Alright, well I brought some vegan hot dogs if you want me to have Stan cook it for you.” 

“Yes, please.” He tapped his fingers against his chest, gripping at his shirt occasionally. “Oh, God, don’t let Cartman-- ngh-- touch it. He could poison it.” He closed his eyes for several moments. Calm, calm down. He heard Kyle sit down beside him. 

“No one’s going to hurt you Tweek, I promise you’re going to have a great time here.” He felt a hand on his back. It was slightly comforting, but then again Kyle could easily stab him in the back... he forced those thoughts out with a yelp. 

“T-thanks.” He composed himself. 

“No problem,” Kyle smiled, “I’ll go get those vegan hot dogs.” With that he disappeared, leaving Tweek to mull over his words. He would be fine, this trip was for his friends and him. He needed to enjoy himself for Craig, who sacrificed the time of day everyday in order to keep him safe and happy. Tweek had to accept that everything would be alright. Craig set down coffee in front of him, Tweek looked up and smiled. Everything would be okay. 

None of them had enough enthusiasm to go hiking as they devoured their lunch, so they collectively decided against it, to the blond’s relief, and stayed outside for a few hours. When nightfall arose, Cartman proposed playing manhunt. Even Kyle thought it was a good idea, to everyone’s surprise. Cartman took lead and divided them up into two groups: the Cops and the Fugitives. The rule everyone agreed to was no phones, but Eric had a few bullshit ones they dismissed right off the bat. Cartman was ‘leader’ of the Cops, which comprised of himself, Stan and Craig. Wendy, Kyle and Tweek were the Fugitives. The groups were allowed flashlights each. “Any questions?” Cartman concluded, and once everyone shook their heads, they were off. The Cops allowed the Fugitives to scurry off into their hiding spots in the forest. “Alright, game plan. We gonna split up or what?” 

“We’ll cover more distance,” Stan nodded. 

“If something bad happens I’m going to go back inside.” Craig added, lacking any inflections in his tone.

“Alright, I’ll head North, Stan you’ll go West and Craig you’re going East. If anything goes wrong just yell and wave your flashlight wildly.”

 

Tweek was running into tree branches, stepping on dried leaves and stumbling across roots, desperate to find a good hiding spot. He was terrified of them finding him, he was almost more mortified of whatever in the woods. He didn’t know if the flashlight that only allowed him a limited scope of his scenery was what scared him the most, or the fact that he was alone. Wendy tactfully thought out several locations she spotted as they had driven into their log cabin yesterday, Kyle simply allowed himself to go around in search for a decent place to hide. 

Cartman stormed forward when the Fugitive’s time was up, shoving past bushes and trees. Once he was fairly deep in greenery and cricketing he halted, listening intently for any signs of life. He moved his flashlight around the ground around him; it was all he could see, Cartman refused to lift it or risk being seen by a Fugitive. He heard a distant rustling coming from the the right of him. 

Craig wandered indiscriminately, waving his flashlight around in bore. Someone was bound to get lost without their phones, running and screaming wouldn’t do much help when their distressed sound would be sucked in by the dense forest. He chose to stay close to the cabin. 

Stan was cautious and alert, surveying his surroundings for Fugitive imprints. He didn’t make much noise as he crept through, a sense of bubbling excitement causing his stomach to knot up. 

Cartman inched closer to the sound of movement. He’d turned off his flashlight so no one would notice him, his eyes had adjusted to the sparse moonlight that managed to penetrate the forest leaves. He was careful not to disturb the ground too much, if what he was hearing could also hear him.

Tweek sat behind a tree, worried that maybe he went too far. No, no, he was fine; Craig would probably find him, he’d be fine, this was fun. He was having fun. He twitched and turned off his light. 

Wendy grinned to herself in the darkness. She was set, no way was anyone going to find her. She walked far but stuck close enough to the dirt road that she’d find her way home with ease. She rested against a tree, thinking to herself she’d probably be there for a while.

Kyle found his spot on a promising tree, crawling up to its lowest branch. No one said they couldn’t climb trees. 

Craig searched for any signs of Tweek. He flashed the light around him as he walked deeper. There was a detached emotion in him that he tried to ignore, but it grew larger with every passing minute; a bad sensation that filled his chest. He was afraid something bad would happen to his lover. 

Cartman held a wicked smile. He’d spotted a small, fearful form sitting near a tree with widened eyes, searching for any signs of harmful life; the image reminded Cartman of prey. He was a great lion hunting the powerless gazelle. He circled around him in a slow pace, carrying himself lightly as he stepped around twigs and leaves, making sure to steer clear from Tweek’s line of sight. 

Tweek snapped his head at the deafening sound of a branch snapping. He fumbled with his flashlight, but stopped before turning it on. If there was a wild animal, a wolf or a bear, he was better off not having it on. Maybe the branch was snapped by a Cop that had yet to notice him. He squeezed the handle and stayed silent for the better. His surroundings felt sucked into the situation, it lacked air and movement. It was as if the trees consciously held their breath in anticipation. He felt as if the leaves on the mature woodland leaned close enough to hear his labored breath and see sweat trickle down his furrowed brows. His eyes strained to see anything; any movement, a shape, or even a light. 

Cartman, relieved that the distraction worked, moved slow enough to avoid any more meek clamor. His hands grasped the bark of trees to even himself out. He felt it, too. The breathless forest, anxious to scrutinize the progressing situation. 

After he moved to the point where he thought Tweek could spot him if he focused, he decided it was far enough. Eric was gradual with his movements, appreciating every second of wait as his hands dug into his jeans and pulled out a gleaming, black object. 

A gun. 

He was almost directly beside Tweek, who was solely focused on the prior noise. It took Cartman two steps to cover the distance needed before pressing the gun up to Tweek’s head and yelling, “BANG!” 

There was an illegitimate yell, loud enough that it echoed around them. The forest let go of its breath and leaned back. He witnessed as Tweek dashed away in terror, screaming with reckless abandon, fumbling past bushes and nearly falling flat. Cartman howled, staggering to the ground tears in his eyes and a pain in his cheeks from smiling too hard. He heard Tweek screaming still. Now that... that was fucking hilarious.

Everyone heard it, Stan immediately dashed back in the direction of the house; the new source of the cry. Even Wendy made it out and hesitantly started her trek back. Kyle hopped off his tree and headed toward home. Craig bolted to it. Tweek. Something was wrong with him. Something happened to his boyfriend. 

Tweek didn’t stop until he reached the cabin, and even then he threw open the front door and flew past the flight of stairs, only really stopping when the room to his door was shut and locked. He dropped to the ground and cried; he knew this would happen. Cartman tried to kill him. There wasn’t anyone he could trust, not in their party, especially Cartman. All he had was the light of his torch, he didn’t bother standing to turn on the lights. 

Craig was the first in, the concern for his boyfriend seeping into every movement and word he made. “Tweek? Tweek, what happened?” He called out, his voice reverberated around him. It was eerie, especially with muffled crying accompanying his calls. He felt sluggish and numb, as if his arms and legs were made of wood. What if Tweek was seriously injured? He’d never forgive himself, he wouldn’t be able to. 

All Tweek heard was the consecutive knocks on the door. He couldn’t process his name being shouted. “I-I don’t--! AGH! GET A-NGH-- AWAY! GET AWAY FROM ME!” He repeated the phrase, again and again, until it was all that was in his mind. 

Craig didn’t hesitate as he body slammed the door open, eyes dashing across a shaking form, curled up with a flashlight clasped tight in his hands. It was dark inside the cabin, he couldn’t recall whether or not they turned off all the lights, but that wasn’t his concern. He dropped down beside Tweek, trying to pick him up, ask what was wrong make sure he was okay, do something. Tweek screamed at the feeling of hands, his initial reflex driving him to swipe at whoever touched him with his flashlight. There was a definite connection. He heard a powerful, “Fuck.” 

Craig wiped blood from the newly created wound. A blow to the side of his head was painful enough, but the blood made it feel all the worse. He stood without a word, eyes taking a brief moment to observe Tweek’s expression. Terror-stricken eyes, apologetic eyebrows.

 

The last Cop took his sweet time returning, everyone had already settled home, discovered disturbing things and were prepared to confront him. Stan could see the sharp look of satisfaction in Cartman’s eye as he strode past the last lining of forest, he also noticed it quickly falling into a look of bewilderment. Wendy, Stan, Craig and Kyle all sat outside with solemn looks. He also saw Craig stiffen at the sight of Cartman. 

Stan began, “First you kill Kenny. Then you scare Tweek,--” Cartman laughed and before Stan had the chance to silence him, Craig already advanced. His fist flew, followed by a falling Eric and a shout. 

“How fucking DARE you. How _DARE YOU!? I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU EVEN LOOK AT TWEEK!”_ Craig didn’t stop with one punch. He pinned Cartman down and laid a handful of solid hits before Stan forcefully grabbed his arms and pulled him off. Cartman groaned, laying on the ground with a pained look. Stan made sure to keep his restraint on Craig tight. It was unnerving to see him with so much emotion. 

“You’re trying to kill us.” Wendy’s voice shook Stan out of his focus, when he looked up she held a broken phone. Kyle looked equally distraught. 

“The electricity’s gone, someone slashed the tires to both the cars and took away every fucking means to create fire. Our phones were in your room, all of them shattered to the point where they don’t work! What the fuck are you doing, fatass!?” Kyle demanded. 

“What the fuck are you talking about, Kahl?” Cartman was sitting now, throwing dirty looks in Craig’s direction. 

“You did all this, didn’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one took so lONG but i hope you enjoy??? i also hope it doesnt read as weird as i think it does


	4. Monday

1:26 AM. 

Cartman refused to further the discussion once Kyle’s accusation was thrown at him, he was blatant in expressing his utter disgust at the Jew’s allegations. Cartman lifted himself off the ground and spat out how irrational it was to be held accountable since he had been way too busy scaring the shit out of Tweek. He then receded to his respective room, flashlight in hand and obscenities following him in. Kyle glared venom into the opened log cabin door. 

“You can let go of me now.” Craig muttered, eyes fixed on the ground. Once again Craig held a familiar lackluster in his tone and body language, although it was with a hint of something that was never there before. Defeat, if Stan could name it.

Stan quickly released his unnecessary grip, “Right, erm… sorry.” He rubbed his gloved hands together with a sigh. Craig ignored the pain in his arms and shifted farther from Stan. “So, uh… What now?” He diligently indicated his question to Wendy, who could only slump her shoulders forward. 

“I’m not sure. It’s too dark, we can’t walk to the ranger’s station… Even if we could it’s so far, I don’t know what we can do.” She faced him, her eyes telling him more than she could muster saying. “We’ll have to wait for sunrise, we can think about it then.” Everyone grew silent. Moonlight was the only thing that illuminated them now. He felt a cool breeze. 

Stan trained his eyes on the sky, trying to calm the buzz in his mind. He counted four stars with close examination to the constellations they belonged to, trying to stop his thoughts. He was almost amused at how pathetic his attempt was. Almost. 

“Guys, the temperature’s already dropping,” Kyle alerted, and with a glance Stan was able to see fear in his best friend’s eyes. All that over packing would do nothing if the blizzard hit early. With a bitter taste in his mouth Stan noticed foreboding clouds at the farthest point of the sky, distinguishable only by the contrast of the star-filled purple sky being consumed by the opaque, black clouds. Some divinity above truly abhorred them. 

Craig stepped off of the porch and picked up his neglected flashlight. They all observed in incertitude as he walked to the farthest end of the log cabin, to the old tool shed. Craig pushed open the door and took an awkward second inspecting its insides, then he disappeared into the dust-ridden shack. He turned up moments later with an axe. “Tell Tweek I went out to get firewood,” was all he said, voice giving no indication to emotion. Stan concluded it was in the man’s his eyes, fierce hazel squinted in determination. 

Kyle rushed to Craig’s side, whose eager steps led him closer to the woods. “Craig, are you stupid!? The blizzard’s gonna hit soon! We can last without firewood!” If that concerned Craig there was no manifestation of it within the college student’s steady gaze. He remained stolid with a promise to return soon. 

“Can’t you just chop up the ones here?” Asked Wendy, fidgeting her hands together in unease. She didn’t understand why Craig wanted to go into it, even if he got firewood what good would it do them? They wouldn’t be able to turn it on. 

“No,” he replied curtly. 

It dawned to Stan why he was going out; he wanted to make it up to Tweek. He believed it was his fault for not staying with his boyfriend and protecting him when he needed it. He was trying to reconcile himself. Stan sighed. Maybe it was best for Craig to take it out of his system and do what he wanted now, before the storm hit. Kyle appeared to have come across the same deduction. They all watched until he disappeared entirely. 

Another lapse of silence overtook them.

The last three made their way inside, Wendy with a tight grip on Stan’s hand. A small, comforting gesture. Kyle excused himself upstairs, taking the liberty to speak to Tweek about the situation. Stan closed the front door while warily shining his light around, though there was no consolation in his actions. He still felt unsafe. If Cartman was pulling some prank to scare them all then he was doing a pretty good job at it, Stan had half a mind to storm up there and demand him to stop. 

“We should wait for Craig,” Wendy said softly. “We can look for supplies and make sure we have food at least.” She paused before adding, “If it’s Cartman, we should do something about it.”

“He’d never admit to it.”

“So you’re saying we should allow him to get away with pulling off this stupid thing? I’ll go talk to him. He’s going to give us our stuff back. We could get hurt, Stan-- Craig could get hurt! And for what? This is all Cartman’s fault, I’ll make him go out and set things straight again!” Wendy couldn’t understand the problem or why they weren’t cracking down on Cartman. She’d make him walk to the ranger’s office if she had to, this was that fat fuck’s fault and if he wanted to play a stupid game with them he had another thing coming to him. She turned her back on Stan and walked up the stairs. Her anger didn’t subside as she faced the door seconds later. She rose a fist to knock. 

“Come in,” Cartman’s voice penetrated the wooden door. Wendy froze. She had yet to knock. How did…? “You’re fucking loud, you know that? I heard your conversation from here.” She gradually nudged the door open and stepped inside. Cartman was standing, eyes lowered to meet her height. His body language held a serene demeanor. She never really took the time to notice how intimidating he could be. Wendy grew nervous, but kept those emotions hidden. “If you actually believe that Jew then you’re stupider than I thought. Which is disappointing, I was beginning to think you had at least some smarts. Turns out really are a stupid bitch.” 

Wendy’s face contorted, “Who do you think you’re fooling? You had our phones in your room!” 

“I’m not fucking stupid, Wendy. If I were to be the mastermind to all this I wouldn’t just leave evidence in my room like that. I’m not an amateur.” His voice was cool, an odd thing for Cartman. He didn’t seem worried. Like he knew he wasn’t at fault. 

“Then who else could it be, Cartman?” The girl hissed. She couldn’t trust him. The fatass was a manipulative shit. “If it isn’t you then-- who?”

“Like I know. It could be that Jew for all I care.” 

Wendy exhaled slowly. Maybe it wasn’t him. Cartman could tell she was scared, but that didn’t excuse the fact that those blind assholes blamed him. 

 

Craig wove through the trees, taking random turn after random turn. He was memorizing the path as he analyzed the trees and ground in search for usable wood. Another sharp left, followed by a right. His pace was quick, as was his train of thought. Why was he really there? Was he running from something? Was it guilt?

Craig thought back to right after Tweek attacked him, where a series of words stung his very core. _“Why weren’t you there for me?”_ Of course, he never answered Tweek’s question. He left the room, went downstairs and awaited everyone on the porch. A storm of emotions brewed inside him. _Why didn’t I insist on staying with Tweek?_

He stopped by a tree, placed his flashlight in his mouth and adjusted the axe to fit in both hands. Then he chopped. Each hit he landed caused a vibration that rang through his body. Each time the axe connected, splinters flew and the sound of wood being smashed was heard. The tree wasn’t thick or tall, it fell with only several hits, but it was absurdly satisfying. When it was down he only thirsted for more, so he decided to chop down the tree next to it.

An hour passed with him venting his frustrations, his emotions into the trees around him. He developed a rhythm, a style to fall back on. It was like therapy. Another hour flew by.  
He halted twice in that hour at the sound of a snapping branch. Nothing ever showed up so Craig didn’t bother investigating. He kept to his lumbering. 

White specks drifted down from the now black sky; the air had gotten degrees colder but Craig took no note of it, the effort he was putting in cutting trees having made his body quite warm. He realized the snow almost half an hour later, but shrugged it off. It always snowed in Colorado, this wasn’t any different. It was only after the wind pick up and the snow piled more and more around him that he grew concerned. 

At a particularly nasty wind howl Craig decided to return to the log cabin. He looked around for a moment before it hit him. He didn’t know where he was. Craig abandoned the firewood, forgot his original intention and ran. The cold burned his lungs and the wind felt like knives cutting his face, but he didn’t stop; he needed to find his way back. Did he turn right next to the crooked tree or was it left at the big rock? 

Snow began covering landmarks that he might have recognized. 

After what felt like forever to him, he stopped. Nothing felt familiar, everything was covered in white, he was cold, his lungs were aflame. Craig was royally fucked now. He took to walking, searching for anything that could warm him or get him back to the cabin. Back to his boyfriend. The wind grew more vigorous with every passing minute, the snow was falling harder. He grew numb. 

Another hour passed. He vainly called out, pleaded for help. No one answered him and he was sure no one could hear him. He didn’t know how far he traveled but he was in isolation now with a blizzard on his back. 

That’s when he grew tired, fatigued by the decreasing temperature and snow that he now had to awkwardly lift his knees to cross. There wasn’t any feeling all throughout his body, the previous sensation of bitter cold all but a memory now. 

He took a seat in the snow with his back pressed against a tree. Every breath he took froze his lungs. He couldn’t see far in front of him even with his flashlight, the snow aggressively fell down and obscured his view. 

He thought of Tweek. 

He didn’t even say goodbye. What an asshole move. 

Craig heard footsteps, each coming closer and closer. For a moment he believed he was saved, he convinced himself it was Tweek who ran out seeking to rescue him. Craig smiled. Now he could apologize for leaving Tweek behind without saying goodbye. 

Then he heard a voice so close he could feel the warmth in each word, “Why weren’t you there for me?” 

He felt the axe ripped from his hands. 

He couldn’t even scream.


	5. Ų̶̨͊̽ͣ̈̓͛̑̚͜͝n̷̢̛ͩͥ̊͋̈́̀̄̾̾̍̈̅̎̆͊̓ͩͥ̒̀͘k̸̾͊̉̽̕͡҉nͦͨͬ͂ͣ̓̑͘ô̴̑̍͢҉̀͜w̛̓͂̆̑͒̅̂ͯ͋̑ͫͣͮ̆ͫ̈̑͒̈͞͝͝n̴̷̎̈ͧ̃ͫ̇̂̆ͫ̇͐ͣ̊ͤ̈̀́ ͯ̽ͩͤ̓ͨ̈ͧͪ͒ͬ̓́̾̇ͣ̉͌͐͘̕͞

Craig and Kenny were eliminated. 

They’d only had a hand in killing one of the two. The blood was on their clothes. 

They made their way back home. 

Three more to go. 

Then _he_ would be all theirs. 


	6. Monday

Tweek did not take the news well that night, as Kyle had anticipated. He demanded to search for Craig right then and there, alas Kyle talked him out of it. It wasn’t wise to go out when the blizzard had started. Kyle left Tweek to his own devices with a “goodnight”. Tweek spent several hours into the night curled up in his sheets sobbing, trying to block off the howling storm outside. He had hurt Craig and didn’t even apologize, now his boyfriend was lost in the blizzard. 

Midnight struck, the blond was oblivious, he had more pressing matters; the log cabin did a poor job in insulating enough warmth to withstand a blizzard. Everyone slept with their winter clothes and thick blankets to keep warm. Even with those precautions they all felt the cold’s biting effects. He spent suitable time gazing far out the window once his tears dried up, having nothing more than empty emotions clawing at his gut. He saw the tops of darkened trees and harsh, falling snow. 

The sun peeked out, Tweek watched it shine through his window. 

A sickening relief swept over him. 

He hadn’t died in the blizzard.

Then he felt a pang of guilt. Craig never returned, which meant he--.

Craig couldn’t have died. He dismissed the thought. 

His stomach rumbled, he wasn’t sure if it was from his anxiety or hunger. Tweek guessed the latter. The blonde sat up, several popping noises from his joints audible as his body adjusted from being twisted in his bed sheets. His hair was a mess and his eyes had much darker circles around them. He was used to no sleep, but that night had been filled with so much fear and concern it wore him out severely. He shifted a little off the bed and put his feet on the ground, allowing his eyes to wander the room. Everything was in place. Nothing had been disturbed since he got there earlier, excluding the door which hung rather limply from yesterday’s bodily assault. His thoughts churned for a moment. Was that yesterday? It felt like years ago. 

He dismissed his speculation. 

Dust particles filled spaces in which light peered through the frosted window. Its frail warmth managed to touch his feet. It was a bitter sensation when he took note of it. He moved away from the light. 

Tweek stood and traipsed to the door, his pensive hand feeling at the cold doorknob before tenderly twisting and pushing it open. He held his breath, eyes lingering on the empty hallway that met him; light shone through large windows there too. Particles floated undisturbed, no person yet roamed to unsettle them. He was the only one up. 

He felt it all at once. 

Fear consumed him, a horrible perturbation that shook his core and stung his eyes; what if Craig never returned? What would he do? Did he inadvertently kill Craig, the only one that cared about him? 

Tweek moved somehow despite his state. Down the steps, one at a time. Through the hallway and past the kitchen, into the living room. Onto the couch. Eyes on the front door. Waiting. 

It seemed to him that he was drowning now. He couldn’t breathe, his anxieties were clawing at his throat and his heart threatened to leap out of his chest. If he were to go out on his own now, then maybe Craig would be there to meet him halfway and he’d be able to apologize, reconcile and be happy with his boyfriend. Maybe Craig was just still mad at what he did but was willing to accept Tweek’s sorrows. And maybe he and Craig would find a way back home, discover how to live a happier life and live without care. He itched to rise and walk out. 

Cartman sauntered down the stairs with a yawn, he identified Tweek sitting in silence a few seconds later. It was unnerving. The kid usually twitched and screamed, right then he was sitting with his hands in his lap, staring expectantly at the door. Cartman shrugged it off and made his way into the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. Turns out the fucker that screwed with them left their food in tact, at least. Stepping out, Cartman supposed Tweek would have moved, blinked even. 

The blond sat with trained eyes. He swore he had yet to move. 

Cartman cursed. Technically it was his fault in a fucked up sense; he did scare Tweek which resulted in a chain reaction. Fuck that, though. He wasn’t ALL to blame. Tweek had no right being so terrified at a prank and lashing out at Craig. Cartman didn’t have much care for the absent man, anyways. Craig had a wound that Wendy had insisted on cleaning before Cartman arrived, which he couldn’t even noticed due to having a fist-full of fucking punch on his face. He wished he could just brush it off like he could when he was younger, just laugh the misery of others off but… he felt a little responsible. “When’s your boyfriend getting back?” 

A muted pause followed. Tweek was absorbed by the wooden front door, he didn’t imply any sort of awareness that Cartman was near him. The larger decided that was enough feeling bad for someone and sat down on the round dining table. 

Kyle was next to wake, and with a glance in Tweek’s direction he developed a compassionate frown. There was no way Craig could be alright after a storm, especially since the snow was about two or three feet up from what he could scope out from the second story window. He had to suck up his opinions and be there for his friend. 

He sat down next to the blond and offered a small, “Good morning.” He received nothing in return. “We can go look for him today.” That got him a small glance. “There’s a lot of snow and we wouldn’t be able to be out for long, but it’s out nonetheless.” 

And he suddenly had a crying form on him, gripping his shirt and hugging close to his heated figure. All he was able to do was pat Tweek. 

\--

Everyone was downstairs, talking among themselves and planning ways to survive the mess they were in. Stan offered to stay inside, Wendy hoped to plot a way to get out of there, and Kyle suggested to sending a search party for Craig. No one got anywhere in their discussions, but it was enough of a distraction to have Tweek slip upstairs unnoticed. He made sure Cartman was still around the others before entering his room and conducting a gentle search. He’d feel much, much safer if Cartman didn’t have a gun anymore, so if he were able to find it then everything would be better.

Tweek overturned two pillows, hopeful to find it there. Nothing. He looked under the bed, in the nightstand, inside the untouched closet. To his dismay there was nothing there either. It was only when he peeled open Cartman’s luggage that he discovered the black object that had been pressed against his head hours back. He had no idea how to really handle a gun, so he was careful when putting it safely in his pants before fixing everything and vacating the room in a hurry.

He had no clue someone had watched him through the entire process. 

\--

Kyle sought Tweek out hours later in the day, happy to say that Wendy agreed to search for Craig. They prepared shortly thereafter, creating a strict plan on returning back to the log cabin the second it started to get dark. Kyle was to stay with Tweek and Wendy. Cartman had no interest in partaking any assistance, so he simply refused to go anywhere but his room. Wendy bothered little in pestering him to the fat man’s relief. Stan, however, decided to keep an eye on Cartman and stayed put. 

Tweek grew petrified Cartman would realize his missing gun sooner than anticipated. He never did. 

They set off while the sun still dominated the sky, to which Wendy remarked, “The more light the better.” They began their search. Tweek stayed close to his friend, Wendy trailing behind. Tweek had yet to dissect the situation, but he was growing close to Kyle. Not physically, but, emotionally. The Jew was a new source of comfort where there was none. Although he would without a doubt return to Craig once they found him. 

Tweek was freezing, Cartman’s gun was cold and uncomfortable rubbing against his hip. His eyes were squinted, seeking to keep the low temperatures from icing over his eyes. His legs were already numb from the amount of snow around him, his jeans were dark from the wet snow. His throat burned from the gelid air. Kyle took lead in the exploration, whilst the twitching boy kept his eyes darting from one side of the forest to the other. He wanted to detect anything out of the order that could lead him to his boyfriend before anyone else. 

He grew disinterested in his surroundings and more introspective; his intrusive thoughts had him flinching. What if they found Craig’s body? What could he possibly do with his boyfriend’s corpse? He shook it off as fast as it appeared in his mind. No. He would not allow himself to panic. The worst case scenario could be Craig having severe frostbite.  
Tweek’s eyes skimmed over a glint in the pure sheen of ice. There was red. His heart stopped.

Craig. He appeared to be asleep. Snow covered his body. 

Blood tainted a cavity in his chest. 

A sinking feeling caused his soul to drop to his feet. 

_Craig was dead._

\--

Stan was situated between the pillows of the leather couch. He had to make sure that Cartman didn’t do anything this time around, he was suspicious to why he decided to not go.

His hands were cold, as was the rest of his body. He thought on how the others were faring; they were probably suffering in the freezing temperatures. Stan wanted them to stay. He sighed deeply, sinking into the couch. Yeah, he was scared. Craig was most likely dead, Kenny died, who was next? 

Loud footsteps announced the arrival of Cartman, who was unpleasantly surprised by Stan’s presence. The two were silent, as if a blanket covered them and prevented conversation. Stan was tense under the larger male’s stern gaze. 

Cartman pulled off the blanket first. “So, what are you still doing here?”

Stan deadpanned, “Keeping an eye on you.”

There was a chuckle, “Why? Isn’t obvious who’s doing this?” Stan shot an eyebrow up, indicating for Cartman to elaborate. “It’s Kyle, Stan! He’s obviously the one up to this shit.” Stan groaned.

“Dude, stop.” He did not want to deal with this. Kyle was one of the only people really trying to help Tweek, aside from Wendy. There was no way that Kyle killed Craig or destroyed their things. “I thought you grew out of blaming him blindly.”

“I did. This isn’t me blindly blaming. I know what I’m talking about.” 

“Dude, just-- stop. He couldn’t have done anything. You’re more of a suspect than he could ever be.” Stan scoffed, stood up to go outside. Before he could leave or Cartman could ask where he was going, a powerful bang resonated within the forest. Stan stood with the front door ajar, a calculating gaze cast around the approximate vicinity of the unidentified sound. He looked in Cartman’s direction and queried, “What was that?” After a heavy second of analyzing Cartman’s pale complexion, he once again inquired, “Cartman, was that a firework?” 

Cartman dashed away, up the stairs. Stan knew there was no firework. He heard a commotion, followed by a loud, startled, “WHERE’S MY GUN?!” Stan stepped out, watching his area. Where was Wendy? Kyle and Tweek? Minutes, which to him felt too long, passed before Kyle came bolting through, wheezing and fearful, instantly followed by Wendy. Stan raced down, hugging Wendy close to him. He breathed in her rosy scent and exhaled. Thank God she was okay. 

Stan scrutinized Kyle’s facial expression, it was a mix of aghast and disgust. He muttered with glazed eyes, as if he were yet to understand the situation itself. “Tweek killed himself.” No one spoke. Their air was sucked out of their lungs and a dizzying emotion made Stan's face contort.

Cartman, out of breath and red-faced, sprinted into the scene. Everyone watched him keel over and catch his breath until finally straightening and glowering in Kyle’s direction. “You killed Tweek!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> iM SO SORRY FOR THIS BEING SO LATE IT ENDED UP BEING REALLY HARD TO WRITE AFTER I GOT BACK FROM MY RETREAT.  
> Anywho, guys I give my girlfriend the BIGGEST shout out. She is the reason this story has a plot, and the reason I'm able to have the motivation to write it! She's the person that feeds me with ideas and then I just write them out.


	7. Monday

Kyle took seconds to react. His body straightened and the most angered glower Stan had ever seen dominated his face. Red burned his cheeks and forehead, implying he was dangerously close to lashing out, his defined Jewish nose was scrunched up and his eyes held a flame that caused unease even to Stan. Cartman did not back down under the Jew’s rage. “How dare you say that, Cartman!” Kyle’s voice cracked, “I just saw--...” Finding the strength to continue with a sharp breath he finished, “I just saw Tweek kill himself! Can’t you give me one goddamn break!?” 

“Isn’t it such a coincidence that he just kills himself when you’re around!” Cartman barked before providing a pointed glare to Wendy, “And you! You didn’t even do anything?” At this, Stan sent a nasty look in Eric’s direction. Obviously Wendy had nothing to do with the situation and it infuriated him that Cartman would even suggest something to that extent. 

“We found Craig dead, Cartman! Tweek ran off, Kyle tried chasing after him, and you know what? I was mourning the fact that someone died!” Wendy appeared as equally offended as Kyle. All the apprehensive trust that she had built for Cartman was currently being flushed down the toilet. “All I heard was a gunshot! You’re the only one in this godforsaken place with a fucking gun, Cartman!” 

“Someone took it from me! I didn’t even know it was gone!”

Kyle’s eyes suddenly bore deeply into Stan’s. “You don’t believe this asswipe, right, Stan?” He hesitated in his response, leading Kyle to raise an expectant eyebrow. In all honesty? He wasn’t sure. Though, he supposed he had more reason to trust Kyle than Cartman. Yeah. Kyle was his best friend forever. 

Right? 

“No, I don’t.” The smug look on Kyle’s face erased in an instant when Stan continued, “but I don’t know if I can trust you either.” With that he felt Wendy’s arms squeeze; he glanced down to see her worried eyes searching his. Of course he didn’t believe that Kyle shot anyone but… one had to be suspicious. Of everyone. To keep him and his lover safe. Right? Wendy then gently pressed her face to his body, her embrace growing tighter by the second. Cartman and Kyle avoided eye contact as Stan closely listened to Wendy. 

“Stan… They’re both dead… I saw Craig’s body… He looked like he was… and… Tweek… He’s dead… He’s dead…” She sobbed quietly into his arm. Kyle seemed much too disheartened by the events that transpired and the fact that Stan had no trust in him to continue saying anything. None of that was true, Stan regarded Kyle with a lot of trust, just not at that moment in particular... he would have make sure to clear that up later, for now the boy cradled his lover close and allowed her tears to stain his jacket.

Tweek and Craig. Dead. He tried to wrap his mind around the fact that his friends… 

What about Wendy…? What if she gets hurt next? The mere thought of losing Wendy sent a sharp jolt to his heart. No, no he… Nothing bad could happen to his lover. Enough. Stan’s dark tone startled both Cartman and Kyle. “I don’t care who any of you think you are. I don’t care if it isn’t you guys that’s doing this: if anyone touches Wendy, they’re as good as dead.” Sufficed by their response, or lack thereof, he tugged Wendy towards their cabin, gently holding her shocked form. As if she were a frail, wounded creature. 

Wendy didn’t oblige, feeling a wave of familiar comfort wash over her at his closeness as they made their way inside. Out of all the things, she could barely register the fact that Tweek was dead. Maybe it was because she never saw his body, or maybe it was the small glimmer of hope she had that Kyle was lying about Tweek dying. But the sickening truth crushed her optimism, she knew full well Tweek was now gone, just like his boyfriend. Yet it still plagued her mind; he was with them that morning. He was breathing before, and now he was left in the forest with a gun in hand and a hole in his head. 

As they sat down on the dining room table, she released a sigh and tried to loosen her tense shoulders. A pitiful attempt to relax. 

Wendy’s thoughts flashed back to Craig. Body slumped forward against a tree with his face lacking emotion, his eyes closed and the hat on his head was just barely ruffled and showing his black hair underneath, she could have fooled herself into believing that he was alright. But she never really was a gullible person, and the blood and guts begged to differ. Ribs popped out of the mess his torso had become, as if someone had repeatedly ripped open his body. Frozen blood surrounded him and tainted his clothing. During that time a coldness swept over her, much colder than anything a post-blizzard area could dish out, although she did not move to huddle herself.

Wendy had watched Kyle run after Tweek, who bolted the moment he saw his dead boyfriend. She would have followed suit if not for the bile that threatened to erupt from her lips. Protesting shouts of Tweek’s abrupt escape from Kyle resonated before Wendy was left alone, with a body. A dead body. She recalled making no effort in moving forward or away, the only possible response to Craig’s mangled corpse was a long, horrified stare. 

At the thought of what happened, her stomach twisted dangerously. She bit her lip and tensed her shoulders once more. Guilt crawled up her throat. Stan was perplexed when she abruptly stood from their recent sitting but immediately freaked once she threw up, as luck would have it her stomach’s contents rested on the floor and not on his body.

He ignored the clamor of Cartman and Kyle entering and they dutifully ignored him as well, at least Cartman did. Kyle scurried off to fetch Wendy a glass of water and something to clean up with. Wendy’s body shook and she dared not to touch her face in fear of spreading bile, she simply stared wide eyed at the table. Craig kept popping up whenever she closed her eyes now, and it terrified her. Gently Stan rubbed her back, waiting for Kyle’s return, at least trying to be a source of consolation for his distressed girlfriend. Although he usually deemed words necessary in order to help someone, his mind reeled in nothing. 

Kyle returned with some paper towels and a glass of water. He handed Wendy the cup and got to work on the mess, Stan stooped down to assist not a moment later. Grabbing a few paper towels he scrubbed down some vomit, folded the paper to throw away and grabbed another. From what Stan assumed Cartman retreated to his room, since he was no longer shooting calculating glances towards the lot. Good thing too, he didn’t want argument stirring up again. 

He glanced at Kyle. Fiery red hair covered his eyes as he bent down to clean the mess, but Stan didn’t miss the paleness of his features. He didn’t doubt what happened to Tweek was haunting him at that moment. Though he opened his mouth several times to initiate a conversation, nothing slipped out. There was an emptiness in the air. Life had died there too. A chill ran down Stan’s spine as he grabbed another paper towel to clean. Not because it disgusted him (he’s made worse spills than that over the years), but because he felt… scared. A legitimate fear of death. 

A shaky voice interrupted his thoughts. “Did you just leave Tweek’s body there, Kyle?” Wendy’s soft voice asked, Kyle glanced up with a muddled gaze.

“I… I couldn’t do much…” He confessed, biting at his bottom lip. Wendy nodded absently in return, shutting down the discussion effectively. Kyle returned to his chore with apprehension. Stan sensed his friend’s regret. Once the mess was cleaned, Stan discarded the dirty paper towels and sat back down near his girlfriend. He watched as Kyle ventured back into the kitchen saying, “I’ll find something for us to eat…” 

Stan dragged his eyes over Wendy’s trembling form. Her eyes were so full of pain, the death of two friends was bad enough, he couldn’t imagine how it felt to have seen Craig. What was he even like? Was he frozen to death, or did an animal attack him? 

He offered her his hand and assisted her to the couch, wherein he laid her down and planted a warm kiss on her forehead. He loved Wendy so, so much, it was almost painful. What could he do without her? 

Several minutes later, while he was watching her look at the ceiling with glazed eyes, Kyle returned with what he rounded up from their supplies. Kyle set down two bowls of cereal on the dining room table from his careful balancing, before bringing the other two meals to Stan’s area. “Everything else is things we have to heat up, so instead I brought us some cereal. It’s dry since the milk was iced.” He said, Stan accepting the generous bowl of cereal but Wendy refusing. She’d get sicker, probably. Kyle sighed and held to the bowl as he returned to the table.

“Baby, are you sure you don’t want to eat?” Stan asked in a softened tone, hands caressing his own bowl. It was cold and didn’t appear pleasant, but food was food and he had to eat. The little nod in affirmation Wendy did made him sigh. She just threw up, this was understandable. Later he had to make sure she ate something. 

“Hey, Stan? Can you go and give this to Cartman?” 

Stan’s brows furrowed. Looking at Kyle, whose face revealed no frustrations, he asked, “Aren’t you and him in, like, bad terms? Aren’t you the one that thinks he killed Tweek and Craig?” 

Now frustration seeped through. “We won’t know if he starves to death, Stan.”

“He’s fat enough, I don’t think he’ll starve soon.” Both were slightly off put by how jarring the joke was. Not even humor was good in their situation. Stan set his own bowl down and took the one from Kyle’s hands and headed upstairs, to which he knocked on Cartman’s door. “Got some food for you.”

Door creaking open, he saw Cartman popping his head out. “Don’t you like, hate me or something? Like your buttbudy Kyle?” 

“I don’t think I can trust you,” Stan admitted, shoving the cereal closer to Cartman, who accepted it regardless of his suspicions.

“I really couldn’t have done anything to Tweek. I was with you,” he said, before taking a step back inside. “Keep an eye on Kyle, Stan. He’s the only guy who could have done this.”   
With that, the door closed. 

Cartman ate the cereal, nonplussed by the lack of dairy. It was fucking freezing, he could see his breath fog up and the windows were foggy too, it wasn’t a shocker liquids become solids. 

For the first time, he wasn’t complaining. He’d take what he had, as long as the stinking Jew-rat didn’t come near it. As Cartman ate in contemplative silence, he overheard mumbles from below. Most likely Stan and Wendy. Weak bitch. Sure seeing someone dead is pretty scarring, but she no longer trusted him so he couldn’t express much empathy in return for nothing. Their situations was shitty but he had his own warped sense of moral standards, in some ways. At least his justification of his morality. 

Something had to be done. He wasn’t going to go out into snow and walk god knows how many miles to some damn park ranger that smelt of a stale house, he wanted to be victorious in revealing the Jew as the murderer. Because, who else could it be? Stan was way too much of a pussy to kill, he had barely the heart to kill a fly, Kyle on the other hand… he wasn’t sure what he was capable of. When they were children Kyle was predictable, he was so similar to Stan that Cartman knew he couldn’t kill. But now, who knew? What puzzled him the most were Kyle’s intentions… Why would he kill? 

Unless Stan was right and all the killing wasn’t Kyle’s doing, or rather some outside source… He chortled. That would make things complicated. 

Pain flared up in his abdomen, to his utter shock. He had to set his now empty bowl down. What the fuck was going on? The sudden, violent sensation of incoming vomit had him by surprise too. He threw up. There was no relief after, pain shot through him, he struggled momentarily in both avoiding the vomit and standing in order to reach his door. Hassling it open, he felt another wave of nausea. Unable to ignore it, he threw up whatever his last vomit did a poor job in expelling. Goddamn, what the fuck was going on?  
He felt someone next to him. He didn’t know who it was, he was incapable of figuring out either. Everything was becoming confusing and dark. 

Cartman was scared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im really sorry this is so late, idk i suddenly lost the will to write? but its summer for me now, so im going to try my best to finish this. It only has like one more chapter, anyhow


End file.
